


How to Leave a Haunted House

by May_Shepard



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Face Punching, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Houses, John Watson Hates Haunted Houses, M/M, Makeup, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pugilism, Smooching, Unilock, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/pseuds/May_Shepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From an <a href="http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/126961578822/awful-au-326">Awful AU prompt</a>:</p><p>“I work in a haunted house and it’s right in the middle of Halloween hype season so I’m doing my grade-A television-worthy zombie impersonation. So when I jumped around the corner to scare you, you punched me directly in the face, and now you’re torn between making sure I’m okay and trying to convince your friends that you weren’t actually afraid.”</p><p>ETA: I don't personally think this AU is awful...hokey, maybe, but it tickled me right in my facepunching-is-glorious spot. It's from the Awful AU Tumblr, which publishes AUs of varying awfulness. </p><p>Suggested soundtrack: <a href="https://youtu.be/M4C7K6IHvtc">My Body's a Zombie for You by Dead Man's Bones</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Leave a Haunted House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts).



“Ow!”

The zombie clutched his blackened nose, real blood oozing out over the rust-coloured makeup on his hands and chin. Not oozing, John realised: pouring. He’d punched hard, harder than he’d meant to. Well, he hadn’t meant to punch at all. It was a reflex.

John hated haunted houses, he really did. He would never have come here if it wasn’t for charity, and if his friends hadn’t dared him to. He’d heard that they’d gotten a lot more intense since he was a boy, with people jumping out and trying to scare the crap out of you. He’d been expecting it, but somehow when it actually happened, just now, it had put him over the edge.

“Johnny boy!” Seb clapped him on the back. “Nice one!”

“Ow,” the zombie said, more quietly. John couldn’t tell through the really very expertly done makeup, but the bloke looked handsome. He was tall and lanky too, just John’s type.

“Jesus, are you okay?” John stammered. He took the zombie by the elbow and pulled him aside. The lighting in here was shit, which he guessed was appropriate for a haunted house.

“Ha ha, Johnny! You were terrified!”

Irene had always had a mean streak.

“Shut up,” John said. The zombie stumbled against him as they both nearly fell over a styrofoam gravestone. “Seriously, mate, are you all right?”

The zombie mumbled something that John couldn’t hear over the soundtrack of thunder and howling wolves, not to mention the derisive laughter of his friends.

“What?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“Impressive right hook. You need more formal lessons but you’re wasted on a uni wrestling team. You should be a boxer. Featherweight would be your ideal category but you’d have to lose a kilo and a half.”

John blinked. This zombie was talking nonsense. Wasn’t he? No. He was talking too much sense.

“Hold on,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the zombie’s elbow.

“I have to make sure he’s okay,” he yelled to his friends.

“I bet you do!” Irene said, winking from under her red hood. It figured she would go for a sexy version of a kid’s story character as a costume. She’d hiked up the skirt so her lacy garter belt showed. Seb had been staring all night.

“Come on,” Mike said, pushing Irene on ahead. “He’s right, let him make up for it.”

Seb groaned and Irene took his arm and the three of them pushed on toward the next room.

“Try not to punch him again,” Mike said. “And good luck.” He winked and patted John on the arm.

After some yelling over the spooky sound effects track and some tripping over piles of plastic bones, John and the zombie managed to get into an employee break room and find a first aid kit.

After the flashing lights and loud noise of the haunted house, this room, with its chipped formica table and its lousy fluorescents, seemed a haven.

“Sit,” John said as he opened the first aid kit. As a wrestler he’d seen plenty of bloody noses, and helped clean up a few. He found some wipes and cotton balls and helped the zombie stuff his left nostril to staunch the flow of blood.

“Can I?” he asked, holding up a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “It’ll take off some of your makeup, but I want to make sure you’re not cut anywhere else.”

The zombie nodded and watched him with pale eyes, steady and serious under all the face paint.

“I hate to wreck this,” John said, looking at the fake scabs and wounds and rotting skin. “It’s so well done. Did you do it yourself?”

“Yes,” the zombie said. “No one else here has the patience to do theirs properly, but I wanted mine to look right. Hacks.”

John laughed at the haughty tone as he swiped the zombie’s cheeks clean. He traded the wipe in his hand for a clean one and kept going. The more he uncovered, the more his nerves kicked up again. This bloke was handsome. Really handsome. He tried to keep his hand steady.

“So you’re a big Halloween fan then?”

The zombie snorted. “Hardly. Pedestrian affair.”

John avoided looking the bloke in the eyes as he cleaned his forehead. It was high and smooth, with a furrow forming between the eyebrows.

“So how did you end up with this job then? If you hate it.”

“My brother. Volunteered me as a joke. I thought I might as well do a good job of it, since I’m here. Hence all this.” He waved his hand in the general direction of his face.

John concentrated on cleaning around the zombie’s mouth. His lips were dreamy, absolutely gorgeous, red and full and–oh, bleeding.

“I cut your lip,” he said, wondering how one punch had managed to do so much damage. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right,” the zombie said. “A reflex fear reaction, survival instinct, classic in those who would do well in dangerous situations.”

Something in the zombie’s tone made John’s hand tremble.

“Dangerous?”

“The most dangerous. Like a zombie apocalypse, for example. You never know. Those are all the rage these days.”

John sat back and took in his work. Traces of makeup were there, of course, a bit of greenish grey paint in the bloke’s hairline and the crease under his ear. His hair was still full of the goo he’d used to make it look a bit rotten, but it was wild underneath that, all dark curls. He was as handsome as John had thought. And now he was looking at John with a bemused smile.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the bloke said. “Since you were going to ask. And you really should be a boxer.”

John giggled. “Sherlock. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Sherlock’s face grew serious. “Do you think I’ll survive?” he asked.

“What?” John realized his hand was still on Sherlock’s shoulder, his fingertips brushing his neck.

“Since you took it upon yourself to look after me, I’m wondering what you think my prognosis is.”

John leaned in. If what he was about to do was unwanted, he would soon learn. Dangerous situation or no, he’d kick himself later if he didn’t take a chance.

He took Sherlock’s chin in his free hand and brushed his lips against the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, trying to avoid the cut. He tasted copper and salt and honey as Sherlock met the kiss and deepened it, pressing harder and more earnestly in a long, slow dance that seemed to go on forever.

John broke it first, leaning back and smiling. Sherlock’s eyes were still closed. He opened them languorously, as if only just now waking up from a beautiful dream. He still looked a mess. An incredible, unbelievably handsome mess. 

“Prognosis?” Sherlock prompted.

“Full recovery,” John murmured, stroking the side of Sherlock’s face with his fingertips. “Complete reverse zombification. Contingent on following your doctor’s orders.”

Sherlock smiled. “Which are?”

“Leaving this damn haunted house immediately and coming on a date with me.”


End file.
